Acceptance of what is has been important for me. Throughout my adult life I have encountered a variety of possibilities, some I’ve run with and some I’ve let go of because they didn’t fit who I wanted to be. As a writer, I’m grateful for the path that writing has led me down, and I’m not done with writing yet. But also as a writer, I’ve gone through continual self-evaluation. When I wanted to try different genres, commonly held beliefs told me it was a bad move. I should write to trends, or write with consistency to build my brand. It questioned my decision. But at some point, I became convinced that, for me, writing was a path of exploration. I wanted to try new things and learn things in a lot of areas. So while I have written primarily in the romance genre, in my backlist I have sci-fi, contemporary romance, romantic suspense, fantasy romance, paranormal romance, and contemporary women’s fiction.

There’s a lot of telling writers what to do. You must develop a brand, do podcasts, publish frequently, go heavy on TikTok, Instagram, Bluesky, Facebook, and don’t forget Goodreads, Google, YouTube…

I have sold books and people read my books. My books have been best-sellers, but I have not made tons of money and I am not famous. Still, I seek to challenge myself with writing, because doing so has fit me. I’ve had so many opportunities to interview fascinating people from a large variety of careers and experiences. That in itself has helped grow my writing ability, as well as expand me as a person.

I keyed into a mindset early in my career. Of course I wanted my career to flourish, and in the field of writing that would look like popularity and a good income. But for me, the joy of writing has come from the doing, no matter the sales or reads.

I’m not alone in this philosophy, I know, and a smart and talented writer and editor I know, Jennifer Lawler, put it like this:

“I write to make sense of the world, to work out philosophical problems, to think about who I am and what I believe. I also believe the pursuit of mastery (which I know I’ll never achieve) is a fine way to spend a life; you learn a great deal about yourself and the world around you if you spend your life focusing on developing a complex skill.

With all due respect to Lee Child, there’s no significant difference in skill between Jack Reacher #1 and Jack Reacher #23.

That’s okay—in fact, that’s necessary—for his purposes. But not for mine.

So it’s A-OK to focus more on the process than the results. To give yourself time and space to explore. To stop worrying about numbers on a spreadsheet and more about the joy this process is bringing you.”

I love Jennifer’s thought. She has a way with words. And I would add one more thought that speaks to my own philosophy about writing in a way I believe in internally, not relying on exterior opinions. A character played by Robert Downey Jr.in The Soloist said this: “I’ve learned the dignity of being loyal to something you believe in, holding onto it above all else, believing that it will carry you home.”

I started out this piece admitting I’m not young. But like so many beliefs I’ve encountered throughout my life, age doesn’t matter to me. I’ll be writing as long as it suits me.

If you’d like to read more from Jennifer Lawler, find her on Substack at

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And as usual, I’m interested in your thoughts on this subject.

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Bird-shifter Lark Ellis has spent her life shielding her true identity. Now, to protect her flock’s habitat she’s taken a job that pits her mission against her secret and her integrity.

Reclusive billionaire architect and CEO of Global Environments Tamier Rein lost his freedom and his dreams the day a Society assassin cursed him and changed him into a were-cheetah. Imprisoned by uncontrollable transing, he faces a devastating condition of his curse on the Autumn Solstice.

Lark risks her identity and all she holds dear to help Tamier as their relationship develops into a promise of true love. As the deadline looms, Tamier must let her teach him to live or lose everything in two days.

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I started writing as a career right after reading On Becoming a Novelist by John Gardner. The contents of that book resonated so strongly with me I couldn’t deny it. I started out low-key, volunteering for not-for-profit groups, writing articles and ad copy, but all the while aiming for writing books. My writing originated in my heart and that was what kept me going as I built a file of writing clips and increased my writing experiences.

But during those times, I questioned myself constantly. When my writing persuaded larger clients to give me assignments, I was thrilled. The topics of the assignments were exhilarating and I got opportunities to interview truly amazing individuals. But all the while, I would moan to my husband, why am I doing this? Anxiety and self-doubt and fear of being exposed as a fraud plagued me. I’ve written about this and spoken on it many times.

My first full-time writing job was at a newspaper. I had the writing and interviewing skills but that didn’t stop the anxiety from striking. Still, passion propelled me to persevere, even though I was hiding what I believed was my lack of authority. Who was I to sit in on important meetings and talk to mayors or university presidents? At one point in my career I narrowed focus on writing novels, but even after publishing through reputable publishers the self-doubt persisted. I couldn’t count how many days I spent considering quitting writing. I came to accept that it was just going to be a part of me to self-doubt and suffer.

As I was doing what I loved, I was grateful and hadn’t expected writing would become just as much about personal growth as anything else. While I was writing for the love of it and what it enabled me to give to others, writing was giving me the gift of who I really was, leading me to try hard things, accept support from others, and dare to trust myself. To use a buzz word, my authentic self began to emerge.

My personal boundaries shifted. I redefined what I stood for and what I was willing to say and do. I grew confident in my voice, my values, my choices. And in so doing, created a life I truly wanted, with people who were meaningful to me.

I can’t say I have completely set aside anxiety and fear of being discovered as a fraud. But those are just shadows. They don’t hold the car keys to my life. I’m so grateful to what writing has given me, but the possibility of growth and expansion can come from anywhere, any experience I believe. Life is always there offering opportunities to choose to help ourselves and to help others.

I certainly don’t have all the answers to right living. I can only share my experiences. But just the other day I noticed I no longer ask the question, Am I a writer? The question is irrelevant and I’m not looking for exterior acknowledgement. I simply write.

This change in me is not unique. Women (and men) everywhere are learning more about themselves and what they value. They are finding themselves in their choices and taking on outdated beliefs about who they are, who they want to be, what they are “allowed” to do and say. They turn inward for authority, learning they have always had what it takes to create a meaningful life expressing their values, and in that way making the world a better place.

I’d love to learn about your stories of claiming your life.

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I don’t know if anything can compare to the summers I had as a child, a preteen, and teen. Running barefoot through the yard, gleeful to be free of school. Staying out late enough to watch fireflies glow in the night. Running through the sprinkler to cool down from the summer heat. Biking around the neighborhood with friends until the street lights came on. I grew up in Michigan in a town surrounded by lakes, so summer time meant spending as much time as possible in the lake. My mom was a nature lover, so she would take my siblings and me to a nearby lake for breakfast, when the air was exceptionally fresh and we were some of the few there. But we might also be at a lake for a lunch picnic, or after my dad came home, for a dinner picnic, all at different lakes. But the best fun was to be had jumping the waves at Lake Michigan.

The Big Lake held a special opportunity when I was a teen, as I’d troll the shore with girlfriends, keeping an eye out for trollers of the opposite sex. We’d never do anything but pass by quietly, then giggle afterwards, but it was exciting with the waves lapping at our feet and sand squishing between our toes. And oh the sunburns later in the day, but that never kept us away or prompted us to apply sunscreen, in those days.

I passed on the tradition of breakfast at the lake to my children when they were young. Different lake in a different state, but still very fun. Now days, my children are doing their own version of summer with their families, very active and very summery. Summer at the Big Lake remains a family favorite.

My husband and I have our own traditions now. We sit outside and talk, waiting for the moon to appear and the fireflies to start dancing. We take evening walks, hoping to see a sky-full of stars. And we make the summer sojourn to Lake Michigan as a couple. It’s one of our favorite spots and always will be. We plant our beach blanket and beach umbrella on the sand and overlook the Big Lake’s expansive vista. It fills me up like nothing else, and I take in the breeze off the lake as though I’m greeting an old friend. For a bit, we’ll watch other lake-lovers, some adults, some little kids, some teens trolling the edge of the beach where waves lap along. But we never miss an opportunity to get into the lake itself and savor the feel of the water against our skin, waves jostling us around. I stand there, neck deep in the lake, peering out toward where the lake touches the sky at the horizon, marveling at the sight and grateful for its presence in my life. It feels timeless to me.

Summer changes, like everything else, but in the Midwest where I grew up and where I reside, it is always special, and worth squeezing out the last moments of it. Fall is spectacular, winter is robust, spring is awesome, but summer has its own wonder.

I’ve visited many states in the U. S., but I’ve never lived anywhere but the Midwest, so I’m curious, what is summer like where you live?

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A commonly held belief shared by many is that life is a gift and it’s easy to believe. There is so much to appreciate. We are held on planet earth by gravity. Over our heads is a blue sky, for goodness sake. We have photosynthesis, family, friends, water, and food. I could go on and on.

But life is also hard, very hard, in fact. Bad weather, bills, loss, difficult relationships. Some of us find it particularly challenging. And right now it seems like we’re swimming in bad news, rage, anger, and harsh times. How do we go on when for so many life is desperately hard? How do we go about our daily lives when all around us is chaos?

These are questions I’ve struggled with. When the world is falling down around us at times, it can trivialize my small life. How can I sit at my computer pounding out fiction when out in the world people are being bombed, deported, shot, and politicians turn a blind eye to it all?

I think the answers to those questions are varied. But in general for me, it helps to acknowledge the presence of pain and joy. The suffering and the support. We can, and must, go on with our lives, but we can do so living with more awareness and with more attention to doing what needs to be in our own lives. If I have a project to complete, I can work at it with recognition that I have an opportunity. If I go to lunch or coffee with a friend, I can be really present with that person. When I sweep my kitchen floor I can appreciate that I have a home. Awareness of the tragedies in life can bring up close the pleasure of a cup of our favorite coffee, available to us so easily. And maybe if we have to stand in line for a bit to get it, awareness of the suffering other people endure can temper our impatience. Maybe we can smile at the server and offer a sincere thank you, knowing that in other places daily conveniences are just not there.

I have to admit these questions prompted me write my Dark Sides series that follows the lives of highly evolved individuals, Aeons, with special gifts who fight against darkness. They’re human and face trials, but as they’re in touch with their inner light, they rely on it to help illuminate their paths in battling Dark Aspects who want to take over everything.

Here’s an excerpt from the first book in the series, Touch Me:

Payson looked down over the city from her favorite vantage point at the top of the Sheppard Media Tower, and worried her bottom lip. In the light of dawn, she perched at the edge of the large deck and scanned the downtown streets.

From fifteen stories up, any city could look like a happy place. What she saw told her it was not so for the city of Auralia.

A summer breeze tossed her long hair across her face. She shivered. Changes in the quality of energy thrumming in the air prickled her skin. She could see dark energies thriving in the fistfight in a parking lot, hear it in a woman’s screams for help, sense it in its chaotic pulse that throbbed in her bones. Urgency thudded in her chest.

Her eyes closed, she opened her mind to other Aeons in the city and sensed her energy connection with theirs, like lines of light spreading from her in a web across the city. The gentle pulsing of their high energy hummed in her body, assuring her each one was out there living from light. Awareness bloomed in her chest of how each one brought something different to their mission of balancing dark and light. Hers was working as a bounty hunter.

But Dark Sides energies intensifying these days called her and her fellow Aeons to step up their game right now. Hurry, hurry screamed through her to take stronger actions against the darkness before it was too late.

She ran her gaze across the scene below her—tall buildings that didn’t quite reach the tower, cars filling the streets. But in her mind, she saw a seaport bustling with activity, large sailing ships, and buildings reaching upward sitting next to shiny dome buildings. Suddenly, the scene shifted and devastation rushed through her. She rocked on her perch and blinked hard at the reminder of the past.

She had lived her whole life knowing the popular legend of the lost continent of Atlantis, but also knowing most believed it was a cute story, or just a myth, even a parable to warn people away from the evils of challenging laws and traditions.

Her gut clenched and she turned to find Diane Butler strutting toward her. “Great view, huh?”

Payson jumped down to the deck and braced herself for an assault on her senses. Diane carried darkness around as some people wore a smell. “What are you doing here?”

“The same reason you’re here. To get a bird’s eye view of Auralia.” Diane brushed by her and stopped just short of the low brick wall that stood between the deck and thin air. “It’s exhilarating to stand above it all.”

“Uh huh. I didn’t know you had access to this,” Payson said, sweeping her arms in circles.

Diane gave Payson a frown over her shoulder. “You have permission?”

“I do. I like to come up here to get perspective. But I need the keycode.”

Diane narrowed her eyes. “I go where I want. The keypad is not an obstacle.” She spun around to face Payson and slanted her head. “I can always find you, Payson.” Her voice held a quality that matched her thorny vibration, but Payson just shrugged and expanded her inner flow of light and love to spread to Diane.

Payson saw Diane gasp and held the flow, hoping Diane would accept it. She had so much hope for her and so much to discuss.

In real life we maybe don’t have special powers or the wisdom to use them. We can’t fix the world or rescue everyone. But we can do what we do and do it with an open heart. By living with attention and awareness, we make the world a better place, I believe. But I’m interested in what you think about it.

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That line resonates strongly with me. I have not always been a completely honest person. It’s not always easy to be fully honest in some situations. We fear getting in trouble or hurting another’s feelings. For instance, when a friend starts telling a story about something he or she has experienced but our eyes glaze over, we may offer a fake reason to leave. Or our husband or wife asks if the clothing they’re wearing makes them look fat, we waffle with a weak, “No, of course not.”

The same challenge for honesty can crop up in our own lives when we can’t be true to ourselves. Maybe the husband is working too hard and we could help out more but we like the present balance of work load. Or we know in our heart of hearts that we could eat healthier, get more exercise, and, oh, I don’t know, speak more kindly to family members, but we ignore those thoughts because it’s easier.

When it comes to my writing, I strive to tackle challenges to improve my writing. I try to create genuine characters with plausible character traits. But for a long period of my writing I shied away giving my characters authentic dialogue, for fear of insulting some readers. I knew I was being less than honest, but some kinds of reality are too much for some readers, so I refrained from writing characters who swore, for instance. And right now, with my current WIP, I’m second guessing a plot point, afraid some readers wouldn’t appreciate it. It’s hard to know where the line is that I shouldn’t cross. But I feel “called” to be honest, forthright. In fact, Brad Pitt in Moneyball is my hero. In the movie, his character faces a moment of truth for himself. His team, the Athletics, is a losing team and high-quality players are moving on to winning teams, swayed by bigger paychecks than he can give them. So he adapts a new philosophy of playing the game with less than desirable players other teams ignore but who get on base and score.

The moves he takes to beef up the possibilities of building a winning team go over with his staff and the media like a big fat load of bricks. Predictions expound that they will lose disastrously by abandoning tried and true methods for team building. The Brad Pitt character faces obstacles and resistance that just doesn’t ring true for him, and he meets it head on with honesty that is resented. But as my hero, he doesn’t cave, he follows the truth he knows in his heart offers new possibilities for a winning season, even if he’s taking a risk.

With Pitt’s approach to commonly held beliefs and his own self-doubt in my mind, I wrote Move Me, a Dark Sides series novella in which the two main characters face things about themselves they don’t like. It would be easier, their minds tell them, to continue on as they have, living in denial of what they know to be hard truths. And the status quo tells them they have no chance of happiness if they admit who they’ve been. They would be better off to shuffle along with their heads down, living in fear and dread of discovery. Here’s a scene:

Evening plans on her mind as she made the short drive to her townhouse in the downtown included dinner out with a date and maybe a movie afterward.

She pulled into her garage and skipped up the stairs to her place. Inside, she checked the time as she dropped her purse and keys on the counter in the kitchen. She kicked off her heels and dropped into a chair in the living room to relax. She had time.

But guilt and shame wouldn’t let her be.

Memories swamped her of fighting with her parents early in life. Abandonment. Rejection. Attempts to mold her to their beliefs and lifestyle always caused friction in their house, but she’d had to rebel. She wasn’t like them. She had been different. And the different had crawled like centipedes under her skin, driving her to strike out.

And strike out she did. In high school she’d looked the part of a Dark Aspect, not an Aeon.

Worn out to her bones by the condemning voices in her head, she sought refuge inside her closet, helpless under the pressure of her choices in life. Choices that emptied her soul and left scar tissue. All the times she’d mercilessly condemned others because she deemed them stupid, weak…good, stabbed her in her gut, over and over.

She’d abandoned the Aeons in favor of personal wealth, prestige, and power, and she’d done it with barely a glance over her shoulder. Cassie hugged her middle, wishing blood would pour from the pain in her gut, giving something real to her anguish. The pain was her own doing, inflicted by her choice to move so readily in Dark Sides and bring danger and harm to all that was good, all that was light and love.

“Face it, Cassie. This agony is what you meted out upon the people of Auralia.” Weakly, she whispered to herself. “Agony is what you deserve.”

She sat in stillness in the darkness of her closet and shut down the voices in her head. She’d changed. She knew she was different. But how could she find redemption after all she’d done?

Cassie cleared her throat and willed herself to stand, get dressed for dinner out, and put on a good front. It’s the only thing she could do, at least for now. Just live one hour, one day at a time.

A while later, a knock at the front door came early, but she was nearly ready.

“Come on in,” she beckoned, and walked to the door.

Zane Yates leaned casually against the door frame, his cockeyed grin, one of his finer qualities, tightened her throat.

“You’re not wearing shoes,” he said, looking her up and down.

“Good observation, detective,” she teased.

He took a step inside the entrance and reached for her, pulling her up close. “You’re feeling sassy?”

His word for her grated, but his breath on her skin enticed her, made her think again about her intention for the evening. She closed her eyes and turned her face to his. Their lips met. He pressed his mouth against hers. Longing for love ached inside her, a familiar grasping. But she couldn’t accept his.

She pulled back, touching her fingertips to his lips. “Come in,” she said, taking his hand and leading him into her living room.

“You know, we have reservations.” He checked his watch.

She perched on the edge of the couch and motioned him to sit. “I have to talk to you, Zane.”

He eyed her, suspicion narrowing his gaze, but he sat down beside her.

Cassie searched his face, weighing her words. Feelings for him pounded in her chest, but she couldn’t chance it any longer. “You don’t know me, Zane. Not really.”

“I know a lot. We’ve been dating for more than a month.” He slanted his head and his eyes widened. “Is this the it’s-not-you-it’s-me speech?”

She shook her head in response. Hurting him was the last thing she wanted to do. But he was a cop, after all. A detective, for Christ’s sake. He’d surely soon learn about her dark past. He followed the law, and she broke it. Keeping her secrets from him was getting harder and harder. Her instincts warned to get out, get away while she could, before something worse happened. That being, Zane learning who she really was. She couldn’t stomach yet another person’s disdain for her.

In stories like Move Me, facing the truth opens up new opportunities, and I think it’s the same in real life. Not everyone around us can handle our truths, but living from them can clarify a lot in life.

I’d love to know your thoughts.

FYI, the audiobook of Move Me is in the works right now. If you like listening to books, stay tuned.

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When our dreams fall apart, we can be harsh on ourselves and settle for less demanding ones. I did that too. I went to college and learned a career I thought would give me a solid financial standing and a degree of satisfaction. Brief years into the career, I loathed it, and spent a lot of time searching for work that would align with who I was: teacher’s aide, grade school teacher, ice cream store clerk (not as fun as it sounds.) Eventually, I learned I wanted to be a writer and I became a newspaper and radio reporter.

Boy, I loved the job, but I had a lot to learn beyond writing, and anxiety became my middle name. I had to push through it to be successful, but it didn’t let up, I just learned to keep hoping I wouldn’t fail. Daily mantras were my friend to distract myself from the fears.

If I could do one thing for that version of me, it would be to write a letter to her and let her know that she’s doing the right thing. Everything is going to work out.

I remember my first assignment as a reporter, and it wasn’t a front-page spread. It was just a little piece on a small community considering whether or not to allow snowmobiles to drive in town. But for me, it was a big deal. I managed to gather the appropriate information, complete with town dignitary quote, though I’m certain I trembled so much that the whole city council knew I was afraid. That night I raced home from the meeting and pounded out the story in time to submit for the next day’s paper. I didn’t sleep that night.

For another assignment I had to interview a lawyer who didn’t think much of reporters. He was terse with his responses to my questions and essentially told me I didn’t know what I was doing. With my fragile heart, that was about as harsh as it got. It rocked me, but not off my foundation because I had a support system at the newspaper office. You can imagine the lawyer jokes.

In this same letter, I’d also tell younger me that sometimes things take a while, to be patient and diligent and trust in the path forward. That should have been my mantra back then. And when I segued into writing novels, too, it would have been something solid to hang onto when everything inside was Jell-O. It’s funny to think back and remember the first time I pressed the publish button when I self-published a book. My former publisher had been sold to another company, leaving me and other authors high and dry, so I turned to self-publishing. That decided, I trembled at my computer, afraid I’d done something terribly wrong and everyone was going to find out I was a fraud. Now days, its commonplace to press that button and sit back and enjoy the ride of self-publishing.

I’d also write to younger me that it’s important to learn personal values and invest in expressing them. The feelings derived from doing that are better than having a best-selling book, though that is great too. Living from your heart with honesty and integrity is a solid basis for success, I’d tell her.

Yes, all along the path to where I stand now I made mistakes, tried new tacks, changed my voice, but none of those things proved fatal. They were part of my learning curve. So to my younger self, I’d say: Everything is going to be okay.

What would you tell your younger self if you could?

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“This was a great book. Very clean and refreshing.

I would recommend this book to all my friends.”

⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

Runaway bride Cherish Moss never anticipated the outcome of her wedding day. Will she regret the path not taken or embrace new adventures and opportunities ahead? Opposites attract in Lynn Crandall’s Dunes Bay novel debut, a truly unputdownable story.

Cherish Moss is well aware that most people would do anything for the life she has:
accomplished attorney, daughter of a wealthy family, and hours away from her wedding day. But on the inside, she is barely breathing and no one even notices. When she leaves her fiancé at the alter she waits for the feeling of remorse…so why as she runs out of the church and down the street does she feel like she’s reclaiming her life?

Grayson Steele is hiding out having left his dream job in Chicago as an investigative reporter. After exposing police corruption, the threats on his life came fast and furious and now he has to not only protect himself but his family too. He’s not interested in a relationship. He can’t be, because he won’t put anyone in danger. But after meeting Cherish at a local bar, his longing for her is intense and it won’t go away.

The timing is all wrong for them both, but Grayson and Cherish must face the unwanted fate they helped create or follow their hearts to survive.

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If someone were to ask me what is my best writing advice, I’d have a list of ideas to share. But at the top of my list would be clustering.

For me, this writing tool has been a life saver. Stuck on characterization? Cluster. Need to better define your plot points or improve scene importance? Cluster.

Clustering alleviates angst and saves time by facilitating your best writing.

I didn’t invent clustering, but over the years of my writing career I have found it be an extremely effective approach to writing, well, anything. What is clustering? In short, it is a brainstorming tool that quiets the inner censor and engages the creative aspect of the brain, effortlessly. It helps bridge the expertise of right and left sides of the brain to enrich your writing and clarify its importance. No matter what level of writer you consider yourself–beginning or seasoned–you can boost your writing’s effectiveness and creativity with clustering. What can be done with clustering? I use clustering to brainstorm plot, characterization, and scene problems for my novels and short stories. I also use it to strain out clutter in my mind when writing fiction, nonfiction, titles, taglines, blurbs, and correspondence of all kinds.

If you’re like me, you begin your book project with plenty of research, character charts, and maybe an outline or, more like me, a loose list of scenes broken into Part 1, Part 2, and Part 3. You begin writing. It’s a first draft so you know it’s supposed to be crap, and you don’t worry about getting beyond the hook, you let the story flow. But again, if you’re like me, at some point, your editor brain starts talking: I can’t do this. This is crap. I don’t know what happens next. You pick up your phone and check your Facebook and Instagram activity, and Amazon ads. Forty minutes later you face your computer again. You finish chapter one and feel okay. You know what needs to happen next and you plow on, writing what to you seems like either crap or maybe you’re actually quite pleased. Maybe a love/hate thing with your inner editor rumbles in your head. But your writing time ends and you do what you do afterward—go for a run, meet a friend for lunch, pick up groceries, make dinner—while all the while your story mulls in your mind. Do you relate to this scenario? How about this one? While you try to sleep at night, it dawns on you that a scene you wrote feels off. What, you ask, was it supposed to do for the story? Anxiety frets in your mind. It’s just the first draft, you remind yourself, and try to get some sleep. But you wake up early, dying to read the troubling scene if only to confirm it isn’t a dud. But is it any good? That is how writing can go. We write and sometimes it’s amazing but sometimes it misses the mark and just fills pages even though you tried very hard to write beautifully. Sometimes you send your completed MS to your editor, certain it is the best book yet, and your editor sends it back with comments like “This scene doesn’t go anywhere. Cut here because it feels like filler.”

What if you could bypass all that empty writing and consternation and get to the point? Capture the beautiful writing you’re aiming for and make everything move the story along. You can do that with clustering. Why does it work for me? Clustering is versatile. I can pull out a blank piece of paper and immediately tackle a block while writing a scene. Using a pencil and paper, the process is very hands-on and tactile, which enhances flow of ideas. Like most authors, I compose on a keyboard. But when I encounter a problem or feel my writing is going in an unproductive direction, breaking away to cluster with a pencil and piece of paper produces new insights and those magical aha moments. With clustering, we bypass the logical, censoring left side of our brain and give voice to the imagery and sensations that the right side will offer. It will find associations and patterns you can put to words on paper that will provide meaning. It’s so easy to get lost in words and phrases and accomplish nothing with a scene. Clustering enhances the ability to get to the point.

To cluster, write in the center of your paper a dominant thought or impression. Circle it and begin to write associations without judgement or censor. I’ve attached one of my clusters, one I did to write the blurb for Move Me.

Here’s that blurb:

An Aeon by birth, Diane Butler knew when she walked away from fellow descendants of Atlantis that she wanted certain things: wealth, power, acceptance. But she’d come to realize she didn’t belong with Dark Sides, despite its benefits, and had a change of heart, joining the Aeons to save the City of Auralia from darkness. Now that the lengthy battle is over, she’s adopted her middle name, Cassie, and has put the past behind her. But when her past comes after her, she understands that she can’t escape it or her loneliness with a simple name change.

A surprise encounter that turns ugly pits loner Emmett Forrest against thugs determined to hurt Cassie. Typically, he doesn’t like getting involved, but for guys who hurt women, he has nothing but disdain. With each one out cold on the ground, he believes he’s done. But when the men report the incident to the Auralia Police Department, he can’t avoid the drama surrounding Cassie, or the intrigue.

This has been an overview of my use of clustering. But there is much more to discover about the process in the in-depth book Writing the Natural Way by Gabriele Rico. You also can download for free the presentation I once gave on clustering that includes images at https://lynn-crandall.com/wp-content/uploads/2019/06/GetToThePoint.pdf

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According to the World Health Organization, one in six people in the world’s population experience loneliness. But some global polling indicates that 33 percent of adults face loneliness.

In my Dark Sides series I explore loneliness with one of the main characters throughout the series, and highlighting in my novella in the series, Move Me. I’m not an expert on the topic but Kim Kurtz is. As a licensed marriage and family therapist, she thinks loneliness is at an epidemic level.

“I see a lot of patients who are lonely, and it’s gotten worse with technology,” she said. “With technology we’re all connected but not really.”

While Kurtz says loneliness is caused by a number of things, it’s inherent in our society.

“We’re very independent individuals, so we celebrate independence and success without emphasizing relationships,” she said. “We don’t emphasize community and relationships, so that lends itself to loneliness. It’s what we learn.”

What can we do about it? Well, according to Kurtz, five things are foundational for mental health:

1. Adequate sleep

2. Good nutrition

3. Physical exercise

4. Community

5. Meaningful spiritual practice

“Those things are like water,” Kurtz said. “They’re very necessary. If just one of those pieces is missing we suffer.”

Kurtz also mentions the importance of having a sense of belonging, of being valued by others in meaningful relationships.

“Mattering is important. We need to feel that we matter, which can tie into relationships and not relating well,” she said. “Being different can make you feel lonely, too. Where do I belong, we ask. I don’t belong. It’s isolating. You feel like I’m the weird one. I don’t fit in. There isn’t any cure for loneliness other than connecting with other people.”

It’s this awareness of self and what’s driving the feelings of being alone in the world that is the crux of my Move Me character, Cassie Butler. As a child she didn’t have respect or the feeling of being cherished by her parents. When they die, her grandmother takes her in but also doesn’t value Cassie for who she really is. It leaves her with a strong sense of always being on the outside looking in where people are relating, but not with her. It leaves an ache in her gut, longing to be loved and accepted, and she acts it out as the villain in the three books in my Dark Sides series. In Move Me, her aloneness confronts her, forcing her to learn the way out or sink deeper.

Here’s an excerpt:

“You don’t know me, Zane. Not really.”

“I know a lot. We’ve been dating for more than a month.” He slanted his head and his eyes widened. “Is this the it’s-not-you-it’s-me speech?”

She shook her head in response. Hurting him was the last thing she wanted to do. But he was a cop, after all. A detective, for Christ’s sake. He’d surely soon learn about her dark past. He followed the law, and she broke it. Keeping her secrets from him was getting harder and harder. Her instincts warned to get out, get away while she could, before something worse happened. That being, Zane learning who she really was. She couldn’t stomach yet another person’s disdain for her.

Zane’s eyes clouded. “That’s all you’ve got, a shake of your head? I thought we were, I don’t know, maybe having a good thing. Did I say something wrong, do something wrong? I can fix it.” He ran his fingers gently down her cheek. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

Her heart clenching, she cupped his hand in hers. “It’s nothing like that. I just.” Her words stumbled before she could form them.

“I get it. You and me, we’re different. I’m just a cop, you’re a city administrator. I’m laid back. You’re a live-wire. It’s just not working for you.” He sighed.

Cassie bit her lip. So many words, sentences, paragraphs threatened to spill out. All the things she’d done that he wouldn’t approve of, and he’d be out the door quick enough. But she couldn’t, she just couldn’t be that candid. She’d be left lying on the floor like a rag, and he would step on her on his way out.

He let out another long breath in her silence, and stood looking down at her. “It’s been great getting to know you, even a little bit. Maybe another time or another place it would work out. I wish you all the dreams of your heart.” He made a little smacking noise with his lips, then headed out the door without a backward glance.

Cassie ran to the open door and slowly closed it. Turning around, she leaned against it, listening to Zane drive away. Slowly she slipped down the door and rested on the floor. The silence in the air hung around heavily. What else could she have done? Keep up her charade until it exploded around them both?

No. That wouldn’t be fair to Zane. He deserved to have a love that was genuine and based on truth. That was most definitely not her.

She huddled on the floor, shivering. Had she actually believed she could find love that lasts a lifetime? After all she’d done?

She laughed so hard tears brimmed and spilled down her cheeks.

You can reach Kim Kurtz on her website

https://indesigncounseling.com/

. She also recommends two books for addressing loneliness: Together by Vivek H. Murthy, MD, and Mattering, by Breheny Wallace.

It seems so simple to abate loneliness by just reaching out to others, but even connecting with community can be a challenge. Together, though, we can be the soft place to land.

I’d love to know your thoughts on this topic.

You can find links to Move Me and the Dark Sides trilogy at

https://lynn-crandall.com/

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But things didn’t work out that way, and after nine years of marriage, circumstances made it impossible for me to stay. By stay I mean remain the relationship, stay in a dying relationship in which I could not only not ensure my sons’ futures but was floundering myself. I wanted things to go smoothly but they didn’t.

When that marriage fell apart, it shattered many of my beliefs. I learned that in fact, love would not last. Those I thought cared for me did not. Friends could not support my decisions. Others thought they knew better than me what was best for me and my little boys. I had to take the reins of my life and manage.

I determined not to get involved with another man at all, at least not until my sons were grown. I’m not going to lie, it was a difficult point in my life, juggling single-parenting and work, and raising three sons on my income alone. In some regards, I was lucky. My mom was very understanding and supportive, so I had her to lean on when I needed extra help. What was really surprising was that she was instrumental in breaking my vow to go it alone. Through her, I met the man who would change everything for me and my little family.

This person had two daughters of his own, but I’m not sure he knew what he was getting into when we started dating. Three young boys can be a lot of full-blown energy. Anything could have happened. But what did transpire was the knitting together of a family of seven. We married, had one night of a honeymoon, and then dove into the delights and problems of a big family.

That was many years ago. There were ups and downs, of course. But through it, I learned to trust again. To love in a large, unconditional way. Growth isn’t always simple or easy, but my husband became not only my biggest fan (he bought me my first electric typewriter, yes, a typewriter, and encouraged me to focus on writing), he became my rock and I became his. His biggest gift? He saw me and all of my pain yet didn’t take it away magically. He simply saw it. Being seen in that way can promote healing.

When a relationship can expand and grow over time into a safe haven, no matter what comes up, the world can be a better place. And in my Dark Sides novella, Move Me, Cassie is in great need of support. She is trying to put far behind her the dark things she did in the past, and create a new and better life. But when the past won’t go away, Emmett, a loner who will only get involved in anyone else’s business when there is danger, shows up at the moment he is needed. She sped up, ignoring the men following her. She took a sharp right at an intersection, heading deeper into the trees and glancing around, desperately searching for a way out.

***

“Diane, stop,” another man called. “It’s Peter. We want to talk to you. It’s important.”

She heard footsteps running toward her, but she kept going, going. Her heart pounded in her ears. She didn’t recognize the name but obviously she’d worked with these men, or at least men like them. She’d told them what to do, who to hurt.

“Diane!”

Peter’s voice was sharp, now, but she was no longer that woman. No way she’d respond. Her heart clenched. It was no use.

A hand grabbed her arm, stopping her in her tracks. “Diane, we don’t want to hurt you, we want your help,” the man said. He dropped his arm, and pulled out a package of cigarettes from his jacket pocket.

She stared into his eyes, a quiver fluttering in her gut. “Help with what?” She didn’t recognize any of them, but that didn’t mean they didn’t know her. She’d gone up the ranks of Dark Sides and headed the DAs.

Peter was Number One in her mind, and he came across as the leader. He gave her a pointed look, and put a cigarette between his lips.

“Why, to restore Dark Sides. Of course.” He lit his cigarette as the other three men walked up, and he took a puff, blowing it out slowly. He looked every bit a thug, complete with scowl. But this was the kind of person she’d accepted into her life not long ago.

“Where have you been?” a second man asked. Just as tall and lanky as Number One, he looked her up and down from beneath a thick shock of hair dark brown hair falling into his face.

“Yeah, we’ve been searching for you.” The third one pinned her with his gaze and rubbed his hand over a buzz cut. “We wondered if you’d been jailed. We didn’t get caught up in the sweep last winter. We’ve been in touch with others who also want to reestablish Dark Sides’ power. We’ve mostly stayed off the grid, but we’re ready to announce our presence of authority.”

“I, I, I’m not Diane. You have the wrong person.” She turned to walk away.

“Hold it.” Number One stepped into her path, briskly grabbing her arm again. “We need your help.”

She glared hard at them all. “Peter, I said, I’m not Diane.” Energy tingled in her body, building and preparing to use her ability to disassemble the men. Commitment to use her abilities for good made her hesitate. A moment from her past rose in her mind, reminding her something Payson had said to her a while ago: Being full of light doesn’t mean I’m a push-over.

The man tightened his grip. “You sure look like her. You live in her apartment. You work for the city.”

Number Four had stayed quiet, chewing his tobacco and spitting. He stepped up close, staring her down. “Who are you if you’re not Diane?” He grabbed the front of her shirt and pulled her in close to his face.

From nowhere, a German Shepherd ran at Number Four. A man’s voice rang out. “Da Vinci, hold. I’ve got this.” A hulking man grabbed him and tossed him to the ground. “She told you. She’s not this Diane you’re looking for. Get lost.”

“Hey, mind your own business.” Number Three stepped up, pulled back, and landed a solid hit to the man’s stomach, but the man barely flinched. Without hesitation, he punched back, sending Number Three into the bushes, landing hard on his backside.

Numbers One and Two ran at him, as Cassie stood by. No way she could use her abilities to help out. That would clue them that she was Diane. The man grabbed each one in his arms before they could do anything to him, and knocked their heads together.

All four DAs sprawled on the ground, out cold, and this giant man slapped his hands together, brushing off dirt as if he’d just swatted flies. “You okay?” he asked.

Stunned, Cassie just stood gawking at him.

He sauntered to her, standing shoulders’ above her five-foot-eight. “I asked if you’re okay?” He tipped his head. “Are you?”

His blue eyes had to be the clearest color of blue she’d ever seen. “I am. I’m speechless.”

“I get that a lot.” He chuckled. “I plan to leave these guys here. My guess is it was a case of mistaken identity. You agree?”

It was her turn to laugh. “I agree. Thank you for coming to my rescue. I could have taken care of them, though, myself.”

“You think so?” He sent a glance over the men, then swept one up and down her, and a sparkling smile took over his face. “If you say so.” He offered his hand to her. “My name is Emmett, Emmett Forrest.”

She held out her hand. “I’m Cassie.” His hand enveloped it as he shook it heartily.

“Thank God.” He ran his gaze over the men on the ground. “If you’d said Diane I would have crapped my jeans.”

***

I enjoyed writing this scene because while I cherish my privacy, I also appreciate the value of someone throwing me a lifeline, or maybe just seeing me and accepting me without trying to change me. That supports me being the one who can help out when I see a need, and in a small way make the world a better place for someone, be that someone a child, a friend, a stranger, an animal.

Share something you’ve done that made a difference in another’s life and we all can be uplifted by it.

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For me, the dream contained a sort of starting over. Getting a fresh start for my young life. I bought into the idea that everything would be different and life would be so much better. Mind you, I was very young. I’d barely lived a life, but I was raised in a very strict, fundamentalist church. I swam in guilt and shame that dragged me down. But in California I would be better, free to be who I really wanted to be. I could practically feel my wings as I imagined the great life I’d lead with a new start.

In my Dark Sides series, a main character, Diane Butler, has made some questionable choices. Born and Aeon, she nevertheless faced some very bad breaks early in her life. To cope, she walked away from the Aeon mission to save Auralia from going dark. It was an important task, but she opted differently. She sought wealth, power, and acceptance among Dark Sides. In Move Me, my recent release, Diane faces the inevitable results of her choices.

Here’s an excerpt:

“Anyone else bored as sin? We stopped the Irish mob and Dark Sides from taking over Auralia in December. January and February, we took some time to recover from Dark Sides’ Project Reckoning. I know you all have been tending to your personal lives, your relationships, and your careers, but for me, those two months were the epitome of boredom. Now March is almost over, and still boredom reigns.”

“Diane—” Braden started.

“Cassie,” she interrupted. “Try to remember, Braden. I’ve told you so many times that I’m using my middle name now. I’m not Diane anymore.” She pouted her lips.

Braden nodded. “Yes, sorry. You’re Cassandra Butler now, not Diane Butler.”

“Cassie. I told you, Cassie for short.” She swept her gaze around the living room at Braden and Payson’s house and flung her hands up. “I swear, it’s not that hard to remember my name. I made a change, I’m not Diane. I’m not that woman any more. I’m aligned with light and love. I’m Cassie. Cassie. Cassie Butler. Gauzy, gossamer, and open, not rigid, harsh, or angry Cassie.” The rock lodged in her gut weighed her down. Was she different? Truly? She’d been putting in the work with her counselor, Claire Eve Kelly, to make the change permanent. But with the chaos of the past not far behind, she ached for the excitement of the life she had. The parties, the conniving to get what she wanted. It had all been so mesmerizing.

At this point in the story, Diane-now-Cassie is in limbo. She has taken steps away from her old life, but she hasn’t reached her new life. It’s waiting for her to face her truths, over and over, and choose differently. As she attempts to do this, she has the opportunity to create her new life. Or she will stay in the old one.

The in limbo phase is never comfortable. It’s unfamiliar. It takes patience and resolve to keep moving on even when life feels shaky. It’s during these times we need support from those who can encourage us, those who see who really can be. For Cassie, that person is Emmett Forrest. He’s very different from other people in her life, but he seems to be exactly what she needs. Even so, she grapples with uncertainty and fear.

In real life, the grappling is the brave and scary thing required to fully live the life we dream of, leaving behind the version of ourselves that really wasn’t working well anyway.

Here’s the blurb to Move Me:

An Aeon by birth, Diane Butler knew when she walked away from fellow descendants of Atlantis that she wanted certain things: wealth, power, acceptance. But she’d come to realize she didn’t belong with Dark Sides, despite its benefits, and had a change of heart, joining the Aeons to save the City of Auralia from darkness. Now that the lengthy battle is over, she’s adopted her middle name, Cassie, and has put the past behind her. But when her past comes after her, she understands that she can’t escape it or her loneliness with a simple name change.

A surprise encounter that turns ugly pits loner Emmett Forrest against thugs determined to hurt Cassie. Typically, he doesn’t like getting involved, but for guys who hurt women, he has nothing but disdain. With each one out cold on the ground, he believes he’s done. But when the men report the incident to the Auralia Police Department, he can’t avoid the drama surrounding Cassie, or the intrigue.

Move Me, a Dark Sides novella, is available on Amazon and other retailers in ebook and print. It’s also available on KU.

Oh, California. Well, we never moved to California. Even when Dad was offered the transfer he wanted, my parents couldn’t commit to a new life. And you know what? My life went pretty well anyway. There have been many ups and downs that rocked my world. But as I stand back and view the wide expanse of my life experiences, I see that there always was support, and I’m not referring to religion. It was always up to me to consider what I faced and learn to be more me. And while choices matter, recognizing the very human support available to me made all the difference.

Tell me, have you tackled big changes into unfamiliar territory? What motivated you and how did it go?

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While I’ve been eagerly checking my email for my editor’s response, I’ve also been reading more. I recently finished The Secret of Secrets, by Dan Brown. The story was remarkable and by the end it blew my mind. The author wrote a lot about setting, a little more than I care for, but overall, I’m glad I read the book. If you’re a fan of Dan Brown’s books, you’d probably love this one too.

Before I read The Secret of Secrets, I read Murder at Haven’s Rock. If you’ve ever read books written by author Kelley Armstrong, I know you share my enthusiasm for her stories. I especially enjoyed Bitten from her thirteen-book PNR series featuring the world’s only female shifter, witches, a half-demon, a clairvoyant, and other women who live on the edges of society.

The reading of her books is intense and intriguing. It also sort of led me to write PNRs of my own. Tropes in her books can be found in my Fierce Hearts series. I didn’t copy her style; I wrote in my own voice. Readers will find themes of being different and facing oppression, bigotry, and discrimination, but with a twist. As the shifters in my books live on the edges of society, they also unite in a found family, one that embraces and supports them. They face internal conflicts and massive external conflicts that force them to grow and thrive, or stay unchanged and die. When I wrote the books, I wanted readers to feel seen. Don’t we all face varying degrees of do or die situations?

But what is a PNR without spice? As with Armstrong’s books, my characters seek someone to share life with, romantic love who accepts them as they are. While my characters can shift into lynxes, are physically strong, and have the acute senses of a lynx, they are completely human, too, with careers and family problems, and are simply trying to live their best life—while trying to save their colony from The Nexus Group and prevent their world from imploding. Under those circumstances, who wouldn’t be looking for a meaningful relationship full of expressions of love?

Here’s an excerpt from Secrets, book one in the series, in which the male main character, Casey Mitchell, runs up against a major fear of exposing his true identity to Michelle Slade, the female main character.

Casey sat up in bed, the dream he’d been having still alive in his head. He rubbed his hand through his hair. Sweat beaded on his forehead. “Oh, my God.” His heart thudded hard and fast in his chest. He glanced at the clock on his nightstand, sucking in deep breaths of air. Four in the morning. Loneliness heavied his heart.

The dream had been so real, so terrifying. So unusual.

He set his feet on the cold wood floor and sat still on the side of the bed. He took in the room, his room in his house, and sorted through the images in his dream as his body reactions calmed.

He was accustomed to dreaming as his lynx form. Dreams of running through fields with the speed and exhilaration of freedom made frequent nighttime appearances. But this, this dream made him shiver. He dropped his head in his hands and lived through it again.

He saw himself standing in his human form with Michelle in her backyard. Darkness enveloped them comfortably and above a starry, moonless sky contained their moments of shared solitude. He’d brought her warm hand to his lips, the scent of her skin heady and alluring. She’d laughed, delighted when he pretended to take a delicate nibble of her skin.

Casey balled his hands. The moment of togetherness in the dream thundered through him as he revisited what happened next.

He’d lost control. He’d done the unthinkable. He’d shimmered, right in front of Michelle, into his lynx form. Horrified, he’d stood there as his purest self and her screams echoed fiercely against his heart.

To learn more about the Fierce Hearts series, visit my website. And for a look into what comes before the beginning, download my prequels of the series books at Bookfunnel, starting with Hidden.

Until next time…

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Have you ever done something you fully believed in and imagined it would create a sea change? I mean, have you put your heart and soul into something, hoping it would make a difference in a small way in the world, but also imagining it could flow beyond the small way? Well, that’s what writing offers me. And I have continued to write, despite less than stellar exterior appreciation.

Take my Dark Sides series, and specifically the final novel in the series, See Me. This story drove me from the beginning straight through to the “The End.” I cried sweat and blood writing the story. But it’s not for everyone, I know that. I knew that when I created the series with book one, Touch Me. With book two, Hear Me, my passion continued to flow with hope, though I acknowledged in my head that it would find its right and perfect readers and that would be all. And when I’d completed book three, I was filled with exhilaration and belief in the story’s message. Now weeks from See Me’s release, I still appreciate that it’s not a story for everyone, but I was hoping it could be the book that offered hope and support to anyone who dared to take the journey. In fact, I still believe in the possibility it will light up the world, even if only in a small way.

Sometimes my passion for writing is like a river. It flows and flows, over obstacles, around curves, demanding its path and carving out a way that won’t be denied. I’m sure writing isn’t the only activity to express itself so strongly, undeniably. Publishers Weekly once published a quote from novelist and short story writer, Valerie Martin. It went like this: “If you want to tell whether you’re a writer or not, just see if you can stop. It’s the basic test.” I don’t completely agree, but I get the sentiment. Still, we often question our ability, our right, our authority to do what calls us. But why think of anything as a test? Just do it, and see what happens, is my motto. Find a way to express.

I don’t mean to gloss over the self-doubt, the angst that often accompanies a calling, if you will. I spent years trying to outrun self-doubt and fear of exposure that I was a fraud. Now days, it comes and it goes, and I persist. I listen to the stories and their characters’ promptings. I don’t have to, but I’m happier when I listen and let the writing flow. I wondered about my husband’s “calling,” if he felt one or not. He remembered a strong something at a young age that he wanted to be a father. And as time passed, that strong urging helped him imagine he could be a kind, loving, and supportive dad to our children. Beyond fatherhood, he just wanted to be nice to people, thereby making the world a better place. I know that his kindness and loving ways have made my world a better place, and the same for our children.

I’d like to know, what do you think? Do you experience a similar expectation that you’ll help improve the world, whether you write or teach or work in a factory or work out math problems?

Light-Hearted.

I wove through the aisles at a nearby garden center, heading out. On my way, I got behind a man pulling his cart toward the other side of the large room filled with flowers and trees. His pace urgent, he had a sense of destination in his expression. As I strolled past his cart, I noticed a tiny little girl sitting in the seat, facing me. Her eyes a clear, bright blue, looked into mine. She smiled and I smiled back, then she said to me, “I love you.”

Without thought, I said back, “I love you.” And I meant it. We held gazes briefly, smiling at each other, and her father whisked her on through the store, her eyes still on mine.

That was yesterday. So today, of course I’m here on Substack to tell you all about my brief but beautiful encounter with the precious little girl.

That’s what writers do. We share our experiences, in one way or another, cataloguing moments. I would bet everything that every day someone, probably a writer, posts an occurrence, an encounter, a sight that left footprints in their life. The moments are not inconsequential. They make up our days, and fill us with light that glows, shining out into the world. Now, that sounds clichéd and maybe cheesy, but these glow moments are worth sharing. People are always remarking on the dire straits of the world around us, but we writers, we sensitives, we creatives notice and take into our hearts as inspiration, the harsh and the soft, the sad and the happy, and attempt to make sense of it all.

I have struggled with anxiety, depression, despair over my lifetime. But I’m happy now, in between times when I struggle again to keep my head above water. And I just want to say, it has never been the beliefs handed to me about being a sinner, reminding me to be grateful to a God who could abandon me if I didn’t bow to Him, or if I stepped over the line, that helped me heal. That stuff ate my soul. I take more notice now of what elevates my spirit and leads me to others who shine, sometime while processing their pain.

I have been a meditator for many years. Those moments of meditation have given me insights and a sense of joy and peace. I never needed to grovel, and just this morning I realized, the light I’ve been seeking has always been right there, all around me and inside me. And I want to tell you that I’m not naming Substack as the source of light and love for me, but I want it known that I am reading your writings of walks in nature, of your cat or dog, your child, your loved ones and friends, your thoughts on and explorations of a variety of aspects of writing, and on and on. It’s those moments you share that add glow to my every day. And I don’t mean to gloss over hard emotions we all have. I enjoy reading posts written by individuals going through tough things, like sorrow, grief, limbo. Expressed vulnerability is touching for me, as shared experiences ring inside most people.

I typically walk/run and bike every day the weather allows, followed by sitting or lying on the ground in my backyard. Today I added to that activity being present with the things that gave me a sense of happiness. I’d love to hear what moments of happiness you found today or any day. The light is always in you and all around you, but it matters what we focus on.

Here’s my list:

-the breeze on my face as I biked and the burn in my legs from exertion

-seeing the blue bird fly around my back yard

-hearing the squirrel on my deck crunching on his mid-morning snack

-finding my name written on the Earth in an app of NASA satellite images

-Finishing pages in my WIP

What’s on your list of happiness?

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I grew up in a musical family. My dad played the trumpet and my mom played the piano. In my family, the question wasn’t, “Do you want to play an instrument?” it was, “What instrument do you want to play?” My sisters picked clarinet and oboe, and my brother picked trumpet. I wanted to play the flute, but my dad didn’t think it was a “real” instrument, so I picked saxophone because it had a lot of keys.

So in my home growing up, there was always music. When I got my own home, I followed in that tradition in my own way. I enjoyed all kinds of music. I continue to play my saxophones, alto and soprano, to this day because I still enjoy it. And as a writer, I’ve always created playlists to write by. The music I select for each book’s playlist makes it easy to slip into writing mode. Music inspires me.

With all that music background, it came as a huge loss to get tinnitus. It happened at the time I had brain surgery. The doctor told me at my follow-up appointment that, “sometimes that happens.”

If you aren’t familiar with tinnitus, lucky you. It seems like it’s an ear ailment, so I could just wear earplugs, but that doesn’t help. It’s a constant noise inside my head that gets worse when I hear music or any kind of sharp, loud noise. It never stops. Sometimes it goes down to a softer volume, sometimes it roars like a jet engine. And there is no cure, I’m told, except behavioral training in ignoring it.

According to the American Tinnitus Association, fifteen to twenty percent of the world’s population suffer from tinnitus. In the United States, about 25 million adults experience tinnitus. It’s an every-day, nonstop, type of experience.

Despite the intrusion of tinnitus, I do listen to music while writing, on occasion. Here’s a partial playlist for the novella I just finished, Move Me.

Ticking Bomb, Aloe Blacc

This Never Happened Before, Paul McCartney

We Had Today, Rachel Portman

The Sound of Silence, Pentatonix

107 Degrees, Citizen Cope

Civilian, Wye Oak

I Love You, Sarah McLachlan

How I Got To Memphis, Tom T. Hall

Shine, Mondo Cozmo

One More Night, Phil Collins

Of course, there are many more songs on the list, but that’s enough of a taste for you. I’d love to know what songs you love. If you have tinnitus, I feel for you. For those of you who don’t, enjoy the silence. I miss it, and I hope every day that I’ll get it back. I’m waiting for a book I ordered that claims to be a thorough look at all the types of tinnitus. It’s titled The Tinnitus Matrix, by Lara Penn. I’m crossing my fingers I’ll find something in the book to alleviate tinnitus.

Chronic anything can be a real struggle. I wish you all a healthy life. But if you suffer from something, anxiety, depression, arthritis, what have you, I wish you well.

From the Notebook

I learned as a newspaper reporter that many people held the belief that reporters were something. Busybodies, nuisances, liars, sensationalist, etc. Some of those beliefs are warranted, I’ll admit. But from my experience, reporters are passionate about reporting the truth about any given topic. They seek reliable, expert sources, and want to convey to readers the implications of what’s happening in their world.

I had the situation of being insulted many times, and since I’m a highly sensitive person, I found it unpleasant and upsetting. At first I would automatically get defensive. For instance, during an interview with a lawyer regarding negotiations between the school board and the teachers’ union, I was trying to confirm what I’d heard and recited some figures. The lawyer was sharp with me, “Boy, that’s all wrong. You must not have had your coffee yet. Go get some and call me back,” he said. Yikes, I thought. Another time, I reported on a robbery and quoted what the police had told me about the suspect. After the paper came out, the father of the suspect called me, very irate and called me names. The thing that got to me the most was that I had tried hard to be neutral and report all sides of the situation. It is incumbent on reporters to do so.

Another time I sourced someone who was an expert on the topic, and of course, listed his name in the article. Typically, newspapers don’t use anonymous sources. However, because of my article, the source got into trouble for moonlighting, and blamed me. Yup, it happens.

I found those kinds of incidences useful for learning my values and standing solid in them. Everyone has their perspective and agenda that can clash with a reporter’s, but as long as when I wrote a piece I told the truth and backed it up with facts, I knew I’d done the best I could.

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Three talented authors. Three love stories. Three approaching deadlines.

Midnight Casanova by Lainee Cole
Stranded at midnight by a broken-down car, dog trainer Maddie Lockhart finds refuge in a deserted farmhouse. When the owner of the house, Chance Marlow, tries to oust her, Maddie uses the stray mutt he calls Casanova to convince him she can help with his collection of homeless animals. While their paths seem incompatible, working side-by-side to rescue animals, they discover otherwise.

Two Days Until Midnight by Lynn Crandall
Time is running out for reclusive billionaire Tamier Rein to save himself from transforming into a cheetah, and bird-shifter Lark Ellis is his only hope for surviving past midnight.

Midnight Deadline for Love by Rena Koontz
T.B. Amanscott is Harrison City’s wealthiest man and his kidnappers want one million dollars ransom by midnight or they will kill him. Every possible resource is available to Sergeant Ariana Jeanne Lozione, who is heading up the rescue attempt. There’s only one problem. A.J. wants him dead.

Here’s a sampling of reviews:

“Crandall wraps up her Dark Sides trilogy with a dive into emotional territory, centered on the relationship between Cooper Munson—an empath barely holding himself together—and aura reader Skye Stone, scarred by past trauma. While the Aeons—each with their own unique ability and collective skill at streaming “light, love, and peace to others”—continue their fight to protect Auralia, the stakes escalate convincingly, with threats ranging from mob violence to a potential volcanic eruption orchestrated by the Dark Sides. In this installment, Crandall asks a harder question: what does it cost to be a hero when you’re still healing?” Booklife

“This was an imaginative fantasy, with fleshed-out characters, and deep world building. Crandall does a great job recapping all the important info you need to know from previous books, along with who people are and what their abilities are. As I didn’t read the previous books, this was my first introduction to the series as a whole, and I truly enjoyed getting to know everyone. I found the depth and complexity of the magic system well-thought-out. The story has good pacing, and plenty of tension. While this is primarily a fantasy, there is a small romance side-plot, but it isn’t integral enough to the plot that I would call this a romantasy. Final note: while this works fine as a standalone, it would likely be less overwhelmed by information at times had I read the previous books in the series.” The Faerie Review

Here’s the blurb for my upcoming novella, Move Me:

An Aeon by birth, Diane Butler knew when she walked away from her fellow Aeons that she wanted certain things: wealth, power, acceptance. But she’d come to realize she didn’t belong with Dark Sides, despite its benefits, and had a change of heart, joining the Aeons to save Auralia from darkness. Now that the lengthy battle is over, she’s adopted her middle name, Cassie, and has put the past behind her. But when her past comes after her, she understands that she can’t escape it or her loneliness, with a simple name change.

A surprise encounter that turns ugly pits loner Emmett Forrest against thugs determined to hurt a beautiful woman named Cassie. Typically, he doesn’t like getting involved, but he has nothing but disdain for guys who hurt women. With each one out cold on the ground, he believes he’s done. But when the men report the incident to the Auralia Police Department, he can’t avoid the drama enveloping Cassie, or the intrigue surrounding her.

I’d love to know what you think of the series, and in which order you read it. Also, don’t forget you can read the whole series in Kindle Unlimited.

Leave a comment and let me know.

Check out the series!

It’s hard to admit a failure. Sometimes, and for some people, it’s impossible. It’s too painful. But everyone, including writers, endures failure of some sort.

When I first started my writing career, I went hard and head-first. When I got to the point where it was the right time for me to submit queries, I crafted them carefully and according to various specs and was able to include clips. I did the work I needed to do to present my ideas professionally, then I submitted rounds of queries.

What followed was rounds, plural, of rejection letters. But I didn’t accept the rejections as indications I should quit. I persevered, sending out more queries, to more places, and I wrote. Writing was for me was fulfilling, regardless of the immediate outcome of my submissions. I began writing a novel while continuing to craft story ideas for publications that accepted freelance submissions.

When I received interest in my article suggestions, it felt good. It was all glory hallelujah. I’d succeeded. I was getting success in doing what I loved. I didn’t allow thoughts in my brain of mistakes or rejections or failing. With tight muscles and determination, I assumed all I had to do was believe in myself and keep working. Because I loved what I was doing, even when I had self-doubt, I persevered. But by not allowing attention to failure, I glossed it over. And on the days when I did pay attention to it, such as when I yet again got a rejection letter, I felt like a failure. Me, all of me. I wasn’t good enough to reach my goals. There was something wrong with me.

Of course, that wasn’t true. But when we gloss over what we feel when we’re faced with rejection, criticism, absence of likes and follows, low rankings, we lose opportunities to expand who we are. Emotional resilience can help us weather life’s ups and downs, but when we face failure, the failing to get accepted, the failing to materialize what we envision as our best life, we maybe should stay in the feeling of it. Not bounce back, but recognize failure isn’t the opposite of success. It is just another experience on our way to fulfilment. A rejection of our manuscript or our story idea is not a summation of our worth, it’s just an opinion.

So yes, failure and disappointment are par for the course. I believe this is important to recognize, because to create the life we want, we have to continue to take risks, use our imagination and creativity, and soldier on, knowing just a little more about writing and ourselves. That is what is truly not ever giving up.

From the Notebook

I’ve mentioned before that I’ve struggled with self-doubt. Underneath self-doubt is the fear of failing publicly, I suppose. I had plenty of practice accepting failure and taking criticism in stride, and moving on a little bit more informed.

One of my first published piece of writing was something I wrote for a column in my local newspaper. The executive editor wrote me, making suggestions to my heartfelt piece. It was hard to take. I wanted the piece to be what I had to say, and using each and every word. I told him it was disconcerting, but I would allow the changes. As if I had a choice.

When I first started working at a radio station, I wrote my script in the style I had written print articles. The station editor called me in to his office and he diplomatically sent me back to the drawing table. I’d written long sentences, full of exposition, as I had been accustomed to writing for print publications. I felt like a failure. On the positive side, working for radio helped hone my writing, with more concise structure.

One of my most adored assignments in my freelance writing career was for a nationally distributed magazine. I was so excited, and felt good about my final draft. I sent it to the editor, and got a call from her, telling me what I needed to do to get it accepted. I went numb. It’s those kind of moments that trigger my self-doubt. I dropped on my bed in our bedroom, staring up at the ceiling. “Why am I doing this?” I kept asking my husband. It was painful not to be perfect, to be wrong out of the gate. It was a rhetorical question, and I completed the assignment to the editor’s approval. That time.

I’m not an authority on succeeding, so here are quotes from people who have been:

“When I thought about why I was sometimes reluctant to push myself, I realized that it was because I was afraid of failure – but in order to have more success, I needed to be willing to accept more failure.” Gretchen Rubin, The Happiness Project

“Success consists of going from failure to failure without loss of enthusiasm.” Winston Churchill

“To live a creative life, we must lose our fear of being wrong.” Joseph Chilton Pearce

Is this something you’ve felt in your own journey? Leave a comment or just hit reply and send me a note. I would love to hear from you.

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How about the line from Casablanca, “Of all the gin joints, in all the towns, in all the world, she walks into mine.” It’s a classic.

My husband and I were young adults in the late 80s and 90s, so we share similar cultural moments. We can recite quotes to each other from MASH, Forest Gump, or Castaway. The memorable lines punctuate our lives even today.

I’m a words collector. I always have been.

Quotes, sentences, words, fascinate me, and some resonate so heartily that I have to write them down to keep. Beside “my” chair in the living room in my house, I have a small pile of sticky notes on which I’ve jotted down things I don’t want to forget. The sentiments, the touch of fidelity, the clarity expressed through words around me is something I cherish.

All of the notes I’ve made come from somewhere. Maybe a book I’m reading, a movie I’m watching, or a real person speaks them. Are you like that, too? I don’t reuse someone else’s words in my writing, I simply use them to better understand myself. Going deeper into myself enables me to add more depth to my writing.

Back when my husband and I were dating, he happened to say something I didn’t have to write down. It was something I’ll never forget. We each came from previous marriages that had ended in divorce. Our meeting each other was happenstance. I was 28 and he was 29 when we were brought together by our mothers. Yes, we were too old for our parents to fix us up, but we each were dutiful grown children and agreed to the date. Long story short, we met and kept staying in contact. He traveled from out of state to visit me and my three sons quite regularly. We entertained getting serious. One night we were together, I said to him, “You don’t know everything about me.” He said, “I don’t expect I do. If there are things I need to know, they’ll come up.”

I was scared to reveal certain things. It didn’t seem fair not to tell him, but I didn’t want to spill everything from my past. It’s not that I had murdered someone, or that something serious like haunted me. But I felt uneasy about continuing the relationship. His response solidified my feelings for him. In that moment, what he said was a little scary. It could have felt threatening, in a way. But for me, it was reassuring. It was a promise of trust and enduring love.

Real moments like that one with my husband find a way into my writing. This is how I used that particular line in my novella, Two Days Until Midnight:

“Tamier.” Lark stared at his mouth. “You don’t know everything about me.”

He pulled his eyes from her lips and looked into her eyes. “I don’t expect I do.”

“There are things I want to tell you, but I’m afraid.”

“Don’t be. If there are things I need to know, you’ll tell me or they will come up.” He nuzzled the soft spot under her ear and into her neck, all of his senses exploding with sensations.

“Tamier,” she whispered.

“What?”

“Remember later that I warned you.”

For me, words can help me navigate life. They clarify a thought, or lead me deeper into an exploration. They ground my experiences. They encourage me to accept truths and apply them in a way that fits my life. And I hope readers find truths in my writing that fit their lives and expand them.

What are some words or lines that you can’t forget?

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The date prompted me to ponder what it means today to be a woman. I’m old enough to remember a cigarette commercial that proclaimed, “You’ve come a long way, baby.” I see that in the world around me. Women occupy spaces in every aspect of society. They can pursue whatever interests they have, and they can do well in all things. In general, I can only speak of my experience, but one thing that stands out to me is that women— the weaker sex—are strong. Strength is the ability to endure, to be able to own who we truly are and advocate for that.

I didn’t always know that. As a young woman, I knew I often was scared, confused, anxious, searching. Looking back, the person I was lived in a state of fight or flight. My preferred state was flight, and all the while searching. Searching for a way to live that resonated with who I believed myself to be. I was not well regulated. I was dramatic, and often lost, trying to find my place in the world. I didn’t see female models who fit for how I wanted my life to be, so I was winging it a lot.

Now, as an older woman, I recognize that the flailing around I believed I was doing was brave. I kept trying to learn what I liked and what I didn’t. I was a hunter and a gatherer, going after what grabbed my fancy and discarding and integrating, accordingly. But I had support, from my husband as co-collaborators, and I saw a path to follow set by well-known women and average, every-day women. I “ate” words from Maya Angelou that got me through tough times. From Oprah Winfrey I learned to define myself. Lynne Mc Lewin led me on a journey out of darkness into light, and The Literary Assistant, Melissa Makarewicz, HiDee Ekstrom, and other writer friends help build me up when I struggle. I could go on and on.

Throughout my life, whether I walked directly in a direction that was productive or stumbled into what worked, it all had value for becoming. And in that way, writing met me face to face, taking me on the right and perfect path for my personal and career development. My career path reminds me of a line from the movie Proof, in which the actor Gwyneth Paltrow says her mathematical computations are not elegant, but they worked. I’ve worked hard to create a life I love, but the way I built it was inelegant.

Yet, I’ve written more than thirty books and many articles, and interviewed all kinds of individuals in the U.S and abroad. My writing has touched others. I’ve learned so much, and the thing that turned out to be most important was accepting that everything I needed in order to thrive came down to me. The strength, insight, resilience, determination had to be inside of me.

That exploration of self-knowing runs as a theme in my novels. I write romances in different subcategories that feature men and women who are strong, and they are doing tough things, but they also have big hearts. I believe that is a component of true strength. A strong man can resist vulnerability but be brought to his knees by someone he loves. A strong woman can struggle with panic attacks, but do what needs to be done.

Happy International Women’s Month!

If you’re in the mood for a book recommendation, check out Touch Me, Book One in my Dark Sides series. It features a female bounty hunter and a police detective. Here’s a short blurb:

Dark forces are powerful, and Aeons Payson and Braden battle to save each other and their relationship while the fate of the world lies in balance. The battle for good goes on under the radar of humanity, but the outcome will mean the difference of a thriving planet or a dark one.

Learn more about my writing and find links to all of my books at Lynn Crandall.

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My post regarding the use of profanity in my novels led to some interesting interactions. Thank you to those who commented, and thank you to all who took the time to take the poll. Here’s the results:

I never appreciate books with swearing 0%

I don’t mind a little swearing 31%

Heck no, I don’t mind swearing 69%

The poll is still up if you’d like to add your voice. So far, the damns have it.

Since there are all kinds of people and each of us is an individual with personal preferences and beliefs, the adage, You can please all of the people some of the time, and some of the people some of the time, but you can’t please all the people all the time, holds true.

I recognize that what I write and send out into the world is of little consequence in the grand scheme of things. But I’m curious by nature, and I attempt to make my writing relevant. I like gathering thoughts from other people to help clarify how I feel. There are many ways to tell a story. How I would write a character in any particular story would differ from how another writer would write it. There are many words available for a writer to use, and there are words I would choose not to use. But abstaining from using the language I feel best suits the character and the plot will not be my choice when writing for adults. To me, profanity, swear words, are just words. No offense intended.

From the Notebook

Working as a reporter for print or online meant working with people. I’m in awe of people. Humans are complex and interesting. But I’m an introvert, so the work I was doing pushed me beyond my comfort zone on a regular basis. I would put on my “reporter face” and go to work some days, longing to stay home and bake or hold the cat, whatever came up…at home.

One particular assignment I faced nearly took me down to the ground. It meant sitting down, one-on-one with a university president. I had to find the location of the interview, which was in itself challenging, then I would have make my way through an unfamiliar location to where I would meet up with the president. Sounds simple enough, but not necessarily for an introvert.

Days before the interview, I decided I would not do it. Every time I thought about it, I told myself, “Don’t worry. I’m not doing it. I’ll think of something.”

I did my research and prepared questions, but I told myself I was just going through the motions.

The day before the interview, I hadn’t yet informed my editor that I wouldn’t be available. It was coming down to the wire, but I had put it off. “Don’t worry, I’ll call in sick,” I assured myself.

The next morning, I ate breakfast, I showered, I dressed, all before calling my editor. I got in the car and drove to the next town for the interview. I found the location, and I parked. Sitting in my car, I couldn’t believe what I was asking myself to do. But I went inside the building, clueless about what to do next. A funny thing happened at the door.

“Hi, Lynn. I’m Sandy. I’m so glad you could come today. I’ll show you were to go.”

This woman who greeted me knew me through my reporting. She also knew my husband and had kind words about him. She led the way to the room where I would sit down with the president, and I waited, wishing it all would get over without me dying of embarrassment. After all, I was a mere reporter, nobody special, no multiple advanced degrees. I entertained lies I could use to hide who I really was, a nobody.

The president of the university came in, introduced himself and took a seat across from me. Long story short, the interview went really well. He did not berate me for stepping out of line. He was cordial and he answered my questions as though I truly knew what I was doing.

I don’t believe in miracles, per se, but that day was a miracle for me. I walked away from that interview a changed person. Things can fall into place in the right and perfect way. I can trust the future to be kind. I could do my job well and take pleasure and comfort in that, standing tall as who I truly am.

Of course, I ran into tough times as a reporter, many times. A lawyer who mocked me. A school superintendent who refused to answer questions. But in between were many interesting and meaningful exchanges that I will always remember. Those times fuel my novel writing to this day. I learned that some people are kind, some people are angry and difficult, but all are just living their life.

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What readers are saying about See Me…

“Crandall asks a harder question: what does it cost to be a hero when you’re still healing?

The novel’s true accomplishment is its treatment of mental health within a speculative framework. Cooper’s empathic overload and Skye’s panic attacks aren’t narrative decoration; they drive tactical choices and shape how trust is built between characters. Their romance develops with unusual restraint, replacing grand declarations with quiet gestures of care and recognition…See Me succeeds… as romance grounded in psychological realism, where being “seen” isn’t about salvation but about enduring connection in an unstable world. Thematically, See Me grapples with moral complexity. This will resonate with anyone seeking emotional realism and slow-burn romance—built on mutual healing—over explosive action.”

For me, words are amazing and powerful. My love affair with words, phrases, sayings goes way back. Words carry the world, and ignite inspiration, or devastate a heart. I’m especially fond of words that speak truth. But, growing up in a fundamentalist religious environment demanded I refrained from saying certain words. Shoot was a no-no. The use of Crap! met with a contemptuous, “Not in my house!” from my mother. Darn, jeez, Judas priest, poop. No, no, no, no!

I read the role of Lady Macbeth in my sixth-grade class long ago, and everyone in the class kept asking if I would say the forbidden word.

I did not. But afterward, my teacher explained to me that speaking a role is not the same as using a “bad” word. I’ll never forget the first time I uttered a swear word in frustration, promptly offering numerous apologies to God above. I was seventeen. At a book-signing a few years ago, I learned not everyone agrees with my sixth-grader teacher’s philosophy of characterization. The authors participating in the signing did a give-away for attendees, giving away some books and fun stuff. The winner refused to accept any of our books that had swear words or sex scenes on the pages. Of course that was her right. But it made me go Hmm…

The words of my sixth-grade teacher, Mrs. Shields, have never left me. And yet, typically, I have not used many expletives in my books, kind of automatically. But more recently I’ve changed in a lot of ways on a lot of layers. I’ve re-examined and released outdated beliefs I no longer share. One day while writing, a character in one of my books refused to say darn. To him, damn was in character to say. Shoot seemed plain silly to another, so she said what she meant: Shit. Oh, I’m not laying the blame for swearing on my characters. I know what I’m doing. Having unloaded preconceived and outdated beliefs, I have more space for possibilities, and I like exercising my freedom of expression and letting what rings true for my characters go on the pages for all to see. I respect others’ rights to their choices, but swear, don’t swear, it matters not to me. To me, “those words” are just words. I don’t consider swearing as something I need to judge, but feel free to do so if it fits you. I will add, my books are for adults. And I personally would never use swear words while in the company of children. Not doing so aligns with my values. There are plenty of other quite ordinary words I can’t bring myself to say, but that’s another newsletter.

So if you decide to read one of my many books, in some you’ll find it a swear-free zone, but in others, it’s not peppered like in a cop show, but it’s going to be there as fitting characterization. And I hope you’ll share my acceptance to let my characters live and let live. Their ability to do so is an aspect of the mystique of words, weighed carefully and deliberately.

Writers, what are your thoughts? Readers, what are yours? I’m always glad to know. Don’t be shy.

From the Notebook

I’m a former newspaper and radio reporter and feature writer. The experiences I racked up as a reporter exerted a huge impact on my writing and who I am. I’m going to share aspects of those days in this section of my newsletter on a semi-regular basis. I’ll tell you, a lot has changed from when I worked as a reporter, in the field of journalism and in me.

When I first began writing, I followed what was the regular process for getting hired: amassing clips and querying story ideas to various publications. But I was lucky that my first newspaper job came with a very good editor. His way with words and his massive vocabulary directed me like conductor standing in front of a band or orchestra. He taught me many things, but bottom-lined a few very clarifying tenents that stayed with me. One, a primary job of the news was to hold public figures’ feet to the fire. Two and three, always offer two sides of a story to let readers and viewers decide for themselves, and to always rely on expert sources for facts to ground the story. Of course, these ideas are fundamental to journalism.

Those foundational guidelines are still with me, and they inform how I write novels. I want to instill in my characters authenticity. I can best do that by interviewing human beings knowledgeable about the themes in the story and the careers the characters hold. Doing so facilitates fresh and meaningful reality with which to build a story. But beyond that, journalism has given me a broad experience of what people go through in this life. It expanded my compassion and solidified my expectations and values. These aspects of my writing experiences have shaped how I write in general.

In addition to newswriting, I wrote a column that featured members of the community doing something interesting. I interviewed a farmer faithful to beautifying his corner of the community, a factory worker who had a way with woodworking, a young man who set his sights on working in the pit for a race car driver, city leaders breaking racial barriers, people giving service to a cause, such as Alzheimer’s Disease or the Boy Scouts, young people and seniors. Each one was interesting in their own way. They were not all CEOs or celebrities. They were diverse. And mostly, they were every-day people. But I was honored to get to know them and tell their stories, because in their own way, they each contributed to the higher good of others.

Journalism helped build in me respect for the higher good and the importance of average individuals expressing themselves, of the necessary and beautiful found in average individuals. And it’s what I seek in my writing, whether I’m writing paranormal romance, sci-fi romance, contemporary romance, or romantic suspense, or a children’s book.

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Check out the Dark Side Series!